


[ in a classroom with red-orange walls. ]

by SilkyinaBottle



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bigender Character, Bisexual Character, GSA, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Multi, Trans Female Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkyinaBottle/pseuds/SilkyinaBottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has to do something about it, and Robin figures they might as well take the lead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [ time to tip the scales. ]

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little too excited to be writing this. I started playing FE:A about a week ago and I was instantly hooked. My best friend was the one who recommended it to me, and he was more than happy to muse about a high school GSA AU with me. And so now we're here.
> 
> I do have ideas for all the characters already, but if you have any suggestions, feel free to blurt them out! You may just change my mind.
> 
> (Also, once I do establish every character's sexuality, there may be some sort of support conversation system? I have some ideas.)

It's not often, thinks Robin, that you switch schools. It's probably for the best, considering what happened at their last school, but the increased interaction with their father ("How was school today, son?") still makes Robin's stomach churn. But this is a new opportunity; a new place to fit in. The last school just hadn't been the right fit, that was all.

It's also not often that you get to patrol the hallway while everyone else is in class, but that's just what happens when you sign up to be teacher's assistant in the office. Robin holds the pink note they need to deliver close to their side, but they're not exactly sure why.

They turn the corner, and that's when they hear it—the shuddering gasp, the weak sob of... it sounds like a girl, but Robin's hardly ever one to assume. They still only for a moment—to figure out just where the sound is coming from. From their right, another shaky moan. They turn to face the noise, and find themself staring straight at the door to the girls' bathroom.

Well, Robin's feeling more like a girl today, anyways. Cautiously, they push open the door to the bathroom, and the shaky sobs come to an abrupt halt. "Hello—" they start, but the words quickly die in their throat.

It's definitely not often, Robin thinks (but only for a second, because their mind is suddenly working faster than ever), that you find a girl beaten on the floor of the girls' bathroom. Her arms—Robin can see bruises forming on it—are held over the top of her head, as if she's scared someone else is going to hurt her.  _Me,_ Robin realizes at once.  _She thinks I want to hurt her._

Robin crouches down to her level, stuffing the pink note into their pocket (because honestly,  _fuck_ whoever needs to be brought to the attendance office; this is more important). "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

Something in her posture changes, and slowly the girl lowers her arms back down to her sides. It's definitely alarming that Robin notices the girl's face before her hair—one is covered in blood and tears, while the other is a shade of pastel pink. She would certainly be pretty in any other state, Robin notes, but now isn't the time for that. "What's your name?" they ask, because it only seems polite to know the name of the girl you're going to take to the nurse.

She stares at them for a second, as if weighing the possible risks and benefits of talking to them. "O-Olivia," she says at last. 

"I'm Robin," they reply, and maybe they're imagining it, but it seems like Olivia's expression relaxes. "Do you need me to take you to the nurse's office?" they offer, trying hard to keep their voice steady.

"Please," she replies, her violet eyes begging.

Robin extends a hand out to her, and she hesitates before taking it. They really can't blame her. "Can you walk?" they ask as they bring her to her feet.

Olivia winces, but tells Robin, "I think so." She wipes her face with the back of her hand and nearly cries when she sees the blood. "O-oh _no_..."

Robin can't stand it. Whoever did this needs to be brought to justice immediately. "Who did this to you?" they ask, putting an arm around Olivia to steady her as they walk.

They can feel Olivia stiffen. "It's really not important," she says, far too quickly for it to be true.

Robin thinks about stopping to emphasize their point, but the two of them are moving so slowly that it would hardly even matter. "Please. I need to know so I can make sure they don't hurt you again." At Olivia's pause, Robin adds, "You don't have to tell me why. Just who."

This seems to be enough to her, because Olivia lists off a few names, and amends it with, "They're all girls from my elementary school." Robin's not sure why that's important, but Olivia continues, "They— _ow_ —they tried to get me to l-leave the bathroom."

"Why would they—" Robin wonders out loud, but they stop when they see Olivia's expression. Worried, yet trusting, and maybe... _hopeful_. And that's when Robin remembers that they're wearing a skirt and clip-on pigtails today and they really hadn't been bothering to think about how their voice sounded when someone was hurt...

She knows. Not only does she know, but she _gets it_.

"Come on," Robin urges, and the two of them move down the hallway at twice the speed they did before.

 

"Someone has to do something," is the first thing Robin says after leaving the nurse's office. Olivia will be alright, they've been assured of that, but anger still boils in their gut.

"You're telling me," says one of the interns who works in the office—Ms. Regna, but she's told Robin to call her Flavia—from the doorway. Robin hadn't directed the comment towards anyone in particular, but they're still pleased to have gotten a response. "I didn't know kids still tolerated this kind of behavior."

"It's because she's trans," Robin mutters, more to themself than to Flavia. They're glad Flavia already had access to this information beforehand; they wouldn't have wanted to out Olivia to anyone. "They thought they could push her around just because she's different!" They're raising their voice now, and the words are spilling out faster than they can control. "And what about the other girls in the bathroom? Did they just stand by and watch it happen? Didn't anyone think about _helping_ her?"

Flavia sets a stack of paper down on the counter, nodding curtly. "It sounds like this is something that's really important to you, kid."

"Obviously," Robin sighs, sitting in one of the chairs kept against the wall. Their back hurts.

"Well," starts Flavia, signing a paper with a flourish before setting the pen aside, "when something is important to me, I fight for it."

They sit up a little straighter at this. "What do you mean?"

Flavia grins at him, but there's something in her eyes that lets Robin know she's absolutely serious. "I'm saying that if this means so much to you, you should take matters into your own hands." She takes the pen back and walks out the door to the hallway, but not before reminding Robin that the club submission forms are on the front desk.


	2. [ i will not fail. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh boy did I leave this story hanging. I've been working on the AU for months, but I just never fit this into my schedule. But who better to continue with then our good friend Chrom?
> 
> for reference, during this story (which primarily takes place during robin's junior and chrom's senior year) chrom is 18, lissa is 16, and emmeryn is 21.

Chrom first notices it in second grade, when Frederick starts sitting with him at lunch. Chrom shares his chocolate-chip cookies and Frederick actually  _smiles_ at him. There's a weird fuzzy feeling, a buzzing noise in the back of Chrom's mind that won't go away, but from that moment on Chrom knew they would be great friends.

(The buzzing noise would always come back, though; whenever Frederick smiled or when their fingertips would brush while handing each other crayons in the classroom. It takes a long time for it to go away, and even longer for Chrom to understand it.)

 

Chrom starts dating in eighth grade. Sully always finds a way to be a little overwhelming despite how far the two of them go back, so of course she asks Chrom out by stepping in front of him before he leaves history class and practically  _yelling_ at him to go on a date with her. People stare, but it's actually kind of cute, so he says yes.

Being with Sully is just as shaking as Chrom thought it would be, but it's also a weird kind of  _comfortable_ that Chrom didn't expect. He has fun going on dates and learning about Sully's family and when Sully leans in to kiss him behind a tree in his favorite park in town, he meets her halfway. It makes Chrom feel warm and fuzzy, and there's that persistent buzzing noise in the back of his mind, ever lingering.

Maybe that's when part of him starts to understand.

(They break up on good terms; Sully says she wants to get more experiences out of life and Chrom agrees with her. He wonders, subconsciously, if it has to do with the days Chrom's eyes often fell on the boys in their classes rather than Sully, and how her eyes seemed to follow the girls that walked past them in the hallway.)

 

It first becomes a problem in the summer after freshmen year, when he agrees to meet with some of his friends who are about to start high school themselves. Chrom hasn't seen Virion, Vaike, or Miriel since eighth grade, but he can't say he's surprised when Vaike just about jumps on him before even saying hello. "Chrom!" he cries, squeezing Chrom's shoulders in a way that makes his stomach jump. "You, me, food-eating contest. Park grill. Whaddya say?"

Chrom has already had enough of Vaike's antics to last a lifetime, but he can hardly resist a challenge. "I don't even get a hello?" he says, but he grins either way. "Fine, Vaike. You're on." Chrom can't pretend not to notice the way Vaike's eyes light up, and a chill runs down his spine when Vaike takes his hand and drags him across the park, Frederick and Miriel yelling at them the whole way. Vaike shoots Chrom a smile, and that plus their intertwined hands reminds Chrom all too much of that date with Sully; the day she kissed him in this very same park. Suddenly he feels very sick.

That's when all of him starts to understand.

(Stahl ends up winning the food-eating contest, something that Miriel calls a, "foreseeable result." Chrom knows Miriel must have said that to cheer up Vaike, because he switches from moping to arguing as soon as the words exit the redhead's mouth.)

 

He starts worrying about how his family would react that night at the dinner table. Emmeryn has just graduated and is spending the summer with them before heading off to a university she'd been accepted into. Chrom's thankful for this and he thinks she knows that. He understands what Emm had to go through growing up; taking care of him and Lissa under the near-suffocating pressure of their father, who had come home drunk (or flat-out not come home at all) more times than Chrom could count. It's nice to split most of the responsibilities between the three of them, and split the cooking between the two of them (Lissa can't be trusted with it). Tonight Emm made pasta and parmesan broccoli. Chrom can't help but steal glances at his family over his plate.

Lissa is eating with more gusto than usual, clearly just as energized by Emmeryn's prolonged stay as her brother is. He's almost dreading the day she starts high school; they haven't had school together since Chrom graduated sixth grade, and with all her energy and mischievous spirit, she's sure to go out of her way to embarrass him in  _some_ capacity. Lissa is bold and sweet, with all the radiance of the sun. If Chrom told her about the feeling he had today (in the middle of the park, with Vaike holding his hand), he's sure her reaction would make the neighbors jump, but she'd likely be happier for him than anyone ever was.

Chrom gives his father one quick, thoughtless glance before pointedly staring back at his broccoli. Not happening. His father would kick him out of the house faster than he could spit out a, "Haha, just joking!" He's made his opinion on  _those_ kind of people quite clear, without ever actually saying anything about them. He's always been asking Chrom about when he's going to bring another girl home; telling him to stand a little taller, speak a little more confidently, and to drop his hobby of baking, because ( _supposedly_ ) no girl will ever like him if he's a "pansy". There's always been this unspoken of pressure in his house; to get a girlfriend, to propose to her in some flashy manner that makes everyone coo and cheer, to get married and have some kids, to continue on the family lineage. Even when mom was around, it was always like that: she'd giggle and tease Chrom when he played with girls in the park, straighten Chrom's tie when they went to fancy dinners and tell him he had to look nice to "impress the ladies," and even talk to Cordelia's mom and wonder if they'd get  _married_ some day.

With _Cordelia_? Not likely.

And then there was Emm. He watches carefully as she cuts her broccoli up into pieces; one of those odd things she had always done that made eating look at lot more polite than Lissa's method of shoving large pieces of food into her mouth all at once. If Lissa would readily accept him and his father would leave him for the rats, then Emm is an uncertainty. He knows Emmeryn would never even  _consider_ throwing him out of the house (or doing anything even remotely close to that level of cruelty), but Emm had known their mother longer than any of them had and Chrom knows what his mother had wanted for him. Would Emmeryn want what their mother would had encouraged Chrom towards? Or would she ignore the ideals of a woman long gone to support him unconditionally? Both options seemed just as likely.

(But that night, a hoard of police officers find their place on his family's doorstep, and Chrom doesn't see his father for a long time after that. All Chrom can do is watch, blindly following Emmeryn as she frantically talks with the officers at the door, stepping back and taking her hand when the first officer grabs their father, and keeping a close eye on Lissa, who never moves from her spot at the table. With the way that his younger sister stares at her lap with half-lidded eyes and a tight-lipped frown, Chrom gets the feeling that Emmeryn wasn't the only reason she had been eating with such enthusiasm.)

 

It becomes an absolute trainwreck the next week, when Vaike manages to scare him in the library and Chrom makes a noise that is best described as a _squeak_. Vaike laughs, loud enough to make the librarian look in their direction. Chrom shushes him as quickly as he can, leaning in close and pressing his finger to his own lips. And then Vaike grins and oh _g_ _ods_ Chrom really hadn't meant to lean in that close—

"Whatcha got there?" he asks, and Chrom's brain is still restarting when Vaike points at the book he's still clutching in his arms.

"O-oh, this thing?" he stumbles, almost forgetting to check his volume in the quiet space between bookshelves. "Lissa wanted me to look up some more recipes to make for dinner and stuff, s-since Emm's been so busy with everything else lately..." He holds the cookbook tighter to himself, wondering if it's obvious how he squirms under his friend's stare.

Vaike nods absently, and Chrom can't tell if he's trying to be tactful or if he just isn't listening. As dense as he might be, Chrom has a feeling even Vaike could understand the unspoken rule of, _"don't bring up your friend's dad who's currently on trial for child abuse and hate crimes."_ And sure enough, Vaike comes through, grinning and bumping Chrom's shoulder in a way that feels reassuring, even if it's not supposed to. "Sounds cool! Make sure there are desserts in there too, dude. It's been too long since I got to witness Chrom's legendary chocolate blueberry muffins!"

Chrom can't stop himself from turning red. "Oh, y-yeah, of course!" For once in his life, he's glad Vaike's insufferably oblivious, because the gods know anyone else would be able to tell how horribly nervous he is. This is bad, this is bad, he shouldn't be _feeling_ like this...

The bell for class saves him, and Vaike slings his backpack over his shoulder and waves goodbye before Chrom has a chance to react. "I'll look forward to it, man!" he shouts—loud enough for the librarian to shush him—as he heads out the door.

(Chrom doesn't notice he's smiling until he walks into history and Frederick has to ask him why he's grinning so widely. Internally, he decides he needs to look into this.)

 

He's in junior year when he realizes too late that his mom might have been on to something with him and Cordelia. Cordelia stands in front of him, her face as red as her hair, her eyes directed towards the ground, and her hands shaking. Her words are still echoing in Chrom's head: "Will you go out with me?"

"...I'm sorry, what?" is the best he can do. Dammit.

Cordelia's gaze flicks upwards, but their eyes do not (cannot) meet. "I...," she breathes out, and it sounds more like a gasp than a word, "I've had a crush on you for about two years now, and...," she's losing steam, Chrom can tell, and suddenly panic mode has been activated, because Chrom really does not want to be responsible for anyone crying, but—

"It's fine," he cuts in, feeling strangely empty besides his rapid heartbeat. This... this isn't what it was like with Sully... or with Vaike, for that matter, even if it never went anywhere. There isn't the warm sensation lingering in his chest, there's no dull surprise (because it had really felt  _right_ ), there's no smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Instead, he feels like he's jumped into a lake full of ice water. It's shocking, but after the situation settles in, it's just uncomfortable at best. "I just...," he takes a breath, because he should really  _think_ before he says this, "I don't really feel the same. I'm sorry."

Cordelia's back to staring at her feet again, her head bent down so low that Chrom can't see her face. When she looks at him again, her expression is sullen, but surprisingly put-together. Had she... expected this? "I understand," she says flatly, looking at Chrom in the eyes for the first time that day. "I'm sorry for bothering you." She turns around, but she only makes it a few paces before a sound not unlike a sob escapes her and she breaks out into a full sprint down the empty hallway.

(Chrom doesn't think he's ever felt more guilty in his life. They don't speak again; not until Sumia demands they don't let it get in the way of their friendship. Even then, conversation is strained.)

 

It's the day before senior year starts when it occurs to Chrom that he should take a second to step back and look at someone else's problems for once. This is how he ends up awake at eleven o'clock at night, stirring a bowl of snickerdoodle dough with a sort of ferocity he didn't know he had. It's Frederick's favorite, even though he's never thought of himself enough to ask Chrom to make a batch for him.

Chrom might not be the most observant guy that's ever lived, and sure, he'll probably be struggling to get a B- in literature as soon as the new semester rolls around, but he's not  _blind_ , especially when it comes to Frederick. He hasn't left his house in  _days_ , and no amount of excuses will make Chrom believe that this is nothing to be concerned about. Frederick claims he's sick, but he hasn't let being sick get in his way since third grade. By the time they were in their second half of elementary school, Frederick's parents learned it was just about impossible to keep Frederick at home on a school day. Frederick hadn't turned down one of Chrom's invitations since seventh grade, and that was after the diagnosis. If Frederick says he's fine, there's no way Chrom's going to believe it. Not today.

He texted Frederick eleven minutes ago and got a response in nine. That was to be expected; Frederick watched his phone like a hawk, just in case. As soon as the message lit up his phone screen, he went straight to work. He'd be by Frederick's side by midnight.

Forty minutes later, he's sitting on the shingles of Frederick's roof right by the second-story window of his best friend's bedroom, a basket of still-warm snickerdoodles tucked close to his chest. Frederick lets him in before he can even knock.

(That night, he learns that he and Frederick are more alike and more different than he could have ever dreamed of. And he doesn't feel so alone anymore.)

 

It's four days later when Chrom has to deal with the rising, red-headed temptation that is Gaius. He's trying to fit a shelf into his new locker when the freckled demon rears his pretty little face in, leaning against the lockers and grinning widely. "Hey, Blue."

It takes all of Chrom's self control not to turn crimson, and this is before Gaius has even  _said_ anything. Then again, Gaius seems to have that sort of effect on everyone simply by existing. "Uh... hey."

The redhead's eyelids flutter, and here it comes, the proposition that will make Chrom sputter as he tries to regret him, because despite Gaius's bright eyes and clever words, Chrom's not interested in doing anything like—

"Gaius! Get  _back_ here!"

Gaius inhales through his teeth. "Crap."

Chrom turns his head just in time to see some white-haired kid drop a bunch of papers, slip on one, and fall backwards onto the ground. Beside him, Gaius grimaces. "Ouch." 

Well, if he's just gonna stand there, Chrom might as well do _something_. He pushes in the door of his locker until it clicks shut, swings his backpack over one shoulder, and rushes across the hallway to help. Most over students are tip-toeing around the mess, averting their eyes like they don't notice the mess of yellow papers and the junior nursing what will soon be a nasty bump on the back of their head on the floor. Chrom catches their eye, gives them his best smile, and holds out a hand to help. "There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know."

The junior turns pink, but otherwise they don't look very amused. "Oh, very funny." They're in Chrom's marine bio class, but he's having trouble putting a name to the face... Or a gender, for that matter. That much should be thoroughly surprising, but their short, pale hair and purple hoodie really don't give anything away.

Chrom decides he should probably say something before he can find a way to screw this up. "Sorry, I had to. Give me your hand." And they do, and somehow both of their hands fit perfectly together as Chrom pulls them up off the floor and onto their feet.

"Thanks," says the junior as soon as both feet are firmly planted on the linoleum. They bend down to pick up one of the many banana-yellow papers strewn across the hallway, and Chrom mimics their motions.

"Uh," he struggles, wondering if he's expected to converse or just help with the clean-up, "you're in my marine bio class, right?"

They look like they're about to say something, but then Chrom feels a hand that  _definitely isn't his_ on his hip and the papers he was holding tumble back to the ground. Gaius shoots him a look that isn't at all innocent and all Chrom wants to do is wrap himself up in the papers on the floor and go to sleep. "Hey, Bubbles isn't the only one who is  _graced_ with your presence every fifth period."

Chrom ignores the flattery, instead echoing, "Bubbles?"

 _Bubbles_ rolls their eyes, now holding at least half of the papers in a stack against their chest. Their tone of voice reads _blasé_ , but their cheeks are still flushed. "Ignore him. My name's Robin, and I assume you've met Gaius." Gaius opens his mouth, but Robin's quick to counter with, "If you say something like, 'We've done more than just meet,' I swear to the gods..."

Chrom can't help but laugh, and he can see the surprise in the way Robin stares at him with wide brown eyes. "You've gotten used to him quickly, haven't you?" Robin gives him a smile that's a little too small and shrugs, leaving Chrom plenty of room to continue. "I've been dealing with him since sophmore year and I'm  _still_ not used to any of it. I'm Chrom, by the way."

Gaius gets a word in this time, and Chrom can see the way Robin's posture stiffens as he starts speaking. On high alert, that one. "Oh, they know." Okay,  _they_ , that probably means neither or both; note taken. "I made sure to point out all of your merits, by the way. You're welcome."

"Uh, sure," Chrom replies, just as Robin snatches the last paper (a flyer?) off of the floor.

"Okay," they start, straightening the stack before splitting it and holding half of it out for Gaius, "this time I expect you to actually  _help_ instead of searching for your next victim."

Gaius's eyes flit to the papers being handed to him, and Chrom's follow.  _Ylisse High Gay-Straight Alliance_ , it reads, complete with an emblem plastered in the middle of the page. It must be the group's logo, he thinks, and it seems to be made by someone who knows a thing or two about graphic design—

Gaius snatches the stack of flyers out of Robin's grasp, giving a great sigh of defeat. "There honestly aren't enough places in school to hang all of these up," he complains, complete with one of the sulkiest looks Chrom's ever seen.

"You don't have to hang them up," Robin explains, turning their body so they're almost facing Chrom. "You could hand them out." At this their gaze shifts to the floor, but their body is definitely faced towards Chrom now and they're wiggling a paper out of that banana yellow stack. "Here," Robin says, handing him a flyer with an oddly guarded look. "I don't know if you'd be interested or whatnot, but, uh..."

It takes all of Chrom's strength to take the paper casually; to not come off as over-eager or too obvious. He gives the flyer another glance and Robin another smile. "Thanks. I'll think about visiting sometime."

(But he doesn't really need to think about it at all, because there it is: a place where people like him  _belong_.)


	3. [ stop staring. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey......... it's been a while.........
> 
> sophrigerator wanted more olivia, so here you finally go
> 
> (btw, i am trans, but i'm not a trans girl, so if i fucked anything up just let me know! also the names mentioned near the beginning were just taken from a random name generator; they're not any particular fe characters.)

_"You know I'm a girl, right?"_

_He stares at her, little hands picking pieces of grass out of the dirt, shredding their little spot by the soccer field into tiny pieces. He takes one between two fingers and holds it up to his face, studying it closely. He shoots her a sideways glance._

_"I kind of guessed."_

 

"Who did this to you?"

Olivia hadn't even noticed him come in. Her gaze flits to and fro, from the soft sheets she's laying on; to the posters giving medical tips on the wall; to Lon'qu's face, hovering a mere foot in front of hers. For someone who's so afraid of girls, he's certainly never minded being close to her.

She swallows.

"Who _did this_ to you?" he repeats, voice rough and gravelly against the thick air of the school nurse's office.

She wills herself to sit up, wincing as an sharp, aching pain bursts in her hip. Surely it's already bruising. She'll check when she gets home; maybe put some ointment on it. Eight years of ballet have put her through worse. "Some girls from elementary school," she answers, but the look Lon'qu gives her lets her know that's not enough. She sighs, quiet and resigned. "Charity, Malinda, Lynette, and Annora—Annora Brigham, not one of the triplets."

"The Annas didn't go to elementary school with us," he points out.

She stares at her hands, clasped politely in her lap. Gods, even in this state, she couldn't do anything but sit still and obey. How pathetic. "Well, I thought I'd say it just in case," she spits back; the only kind of backtalk she can manage and she's throwing it at her best friend. Great. "Are you happy?"

"No," he says, and at her incredulous look, elaborates. "I could never be happy seeing you like this."

Her neatly clasped hands turn into fists, balled up in the starch white sheets of the nurse's office bed. She can feel the familiar aching sensation behind her eyes, and she resists until she feels the first warm tears hit her cheeks. Then it all comes forth like a flood, and she's just a leaky faucet of blood, estrogen, and smudged makeup. And Lon'qu, gods bless him, reaches out and holds her to his chest until her breathing is even again.

 

_Telling her parents is harder, and her seven-year-old mind rattles as she tries to find words for what she's been feeling. Sad, and gross, and wrong, maybe?_

_She knows she's not wrong. But something_ feels _wrong, and she has to know what._

_Her parents look at each other and then back to her with what can only be called hesitation. There's something they don't want to tell her, but she needs to know._

_She needs to figure this out._

_Her mother takes her to the library the next day, and together they pick out a heavy stack of books and carry it all the way home. Olivia reads each page four times, asking what the big words mean and letting her eyes linger on the pictures. It's a long, tiring process, but the three of them walk through it together, never letting go of each other's hands._

 

Her parents are somewhere between panic and rage by the time they arrive at home. Her father is pale and shaking; her mother keeps insisting they need to talk to the school about this, there must be _something_ they can do...

Olivia doubts that, but she feels oddly calm despite the ensuing chaos. Something about the warmth of her home, the familiarity of her surroundings, and her parents' concern makes her feel undeniably safe. She sits at the kitchen table, lazily sipping at the tea her father fixed for her, only pausing when she feels her phone buzz in her coat pocket. She fishes it out and squints at the unfamiliar number displayed in small text on her phone's lock screen. But after her eyes glance over the first few lines of text, her pulse jumps and she finds herself scrambling to unlock her phone.

 **(3:46)**   _Hi olivia!! This is robin. I hope this doesn't sound creepy, but I went through the school directory in the office to find your number. I just wanted to make sure you're doing alright after today!! Text back whenever c:_

She's never been so happy to receive a text message in her life. Her fingers hover over the touchscreen, her mind running through a long list of possible responses, each of them as cringe-worthy as the next. Finally, she elects to stop thinking so hard and just start typing, but it still takes her four tries before she's produced a response she's happy with. Even then, she still hesitates for a good thirty seconds before finally sending it.

 **(3:55)** Hi! I'm doing a lot better, thanks for asking. The nurse told me I'm not seriously injured & I just need some rest. My parents are thinking about talking to the school about what happened. Thank you again for helping me out. Stuff like this doesn't usually happen. I just got really unlucky!

She's only just set down her phone and taken another sip of chamomile when her phone vibrates again. She snatches her phone off of the table faster than she'd like to admit.

 **(3:56)**   _That's good!! And tbh I think it's bad that you're getting bullied at all. Doesn't matter how bad it usually is._

And then:

 **(3:57)**   _Actually, can you help me with something??_

She's not quite sure how to respond to that, but she supposes a positive answer couldn't hurt.

 **(3:57)** Uh, sure! :) What is it?

Robin's response is steadfast as always.

 **(3:59)**   _I'm filling out a club submission form. How would you feel about being vice president of ylisse high's gsa??_

 

_Her classmates don't take it nearly as well. The moment the teacher first calls her "Olivia" is followed by absolute madness. Nobody wants to get "used" to her new name and nobody wants to work to change their view of her from "boy" to girl, but everybody thinks the idea of her growing her hair out and wearing a skirt is gross._

_School becomes hell. She gets her braids pulled in class and gets her birthname—or as she liked to call it, her wrong name—written all over her desk in blue crayon. Kids chase her around at recess, screaming names she struggles to repeat when Lon’qu makes her tell a teacher about it._

_He says she should thank her. There are many things she’d like to thank Lon’qu for: telling people to call her the right name, chasing after her bullies, finding new places for them to eat at lunch, and buying her cute hairclips when he really doesn’t have to. But she doesn’t think this is one of those things. Sure, she hadn’t liked being chased around, and she already knows those names are going to keep her awake at night, but it should have been her decision to tell someone about it. She didn’t need someone to push her into it._

_So that’s what she tells him._

_He doesn’t push her after that._

 

“Okay, so I’m going to be president, since this was my idea in the first place,” Robin says, pointing to the words _“Robin Grimm”_ scrawled near the top of the club submission form. They shift their hand down to point at the next line down, where they’ve written _“Olivia Feena”_. “You’ll be vice president, since you’re the reason I came up with the idea.” And the next, where they’ve written _“Gaius Treacle”_. “I wouldn’t trust Gaius with money if my life depended on it, so he’ll have to be secretary…” Their index finger stops on the last line, which they’ve left blank. “So that just leaves the treasurer, then.” They pause for a second, tapping the eraser of their pencil against the paper before turning to look at Olivia with narrowed eyes. “Do you know anyone who would be willing to help?”

“I think so,” she says, hardly hesitating before bringing up Lon’qu’s name. She had texted him almost immediately after Robin had shared their idea of starting up a GSA, and he seemed to take well to the idea. She’s sure he wouldn’t mind playing a part in the club’s rhetorical government.

At the mention of his name, Robin blinks. “Isn’t he the guy who—”

“Fainted when a girl asked him out, yes,” she finishes, her cheeks coloring slightly. She’s plenty used to confirming the rumor, but around Robin she feels needlessly embarrassed. “Th-that was one time, though, and he’s really a great guy! We’ve been friends since we were kids, a-and I promise you’ll be glad to have him on the team!” She shrinks slightly, taking note of her own odd terminology. “I-if that’s what we’re calling it, I mean.”

“I’ll trust your judgement, then,” Robin says, writing his first name in the blank space. “And I think ‘team’ is a great word for it.” Their pencil comes to a halt and they glance back to Olivia for guidance. “What’s his last name again?”

“Murong,” she tells him, watching closely as Robin’s tanned hand swishes back and forth, their pencil gliding across the paper like a figure skater across the ice.

Robin sits back and looks over the sheet of paper once more, sliding it to the right so it sits between them. “Like that?” they ask, pointing at Lon’qu’s name scrawled across the page. They lean a little closer as they do so and Olivia’s breath hitches as their arms brush together.

She stares hard at the letters on the paper; tries to commit Robin’s handwriting to memory. “There’s an apostrophe r-right there,” she corrects, her voice cracking as she has to place her hand over Robin’s to point out exactly where the punctuation goes. It’s times like this that she’s glad she took puberty blockers. Well, truly she’s glad all the time, but at times like this especially.

Robin’s hand slips out from under hers to add the little mark, and Olivia feels disappointed, and then she feels embarrassed for feeling disappointed. “Okay, thanks!” Robin turns and smiles at her with thin lips and bright eyes, making her stomach twist and turn more violently than it has in years.

“N-no problem,” she spits out, and it feels like a promise.

 

 _She’s eleven when she performs her first show. Her legs are sore from months of work and she’s sure there’s a blister forming on her right heel, but the director let her be one of the flowers and her costume is_ beautiful _. Her tutu is romantic shaped and designed to look like big petals, baby pink fading into scarlet at the ends. Her bodice is a modest green, decorated with a variety of clear jewels to make her look like she’s misted with dew underneath the stage lights. Her new hair—dyed baby pink with her the permission of her instructors—is coiled into a tight bun and stuffed with flowers, like her own personal garden._

 _She looks dazzling in the mirror, like she’s been pulled straight out of a fairytale. She’s just not sure if she’ll look the same on stage. Because sure,_ she _thinks she looks lovely, she just started puberty blockers, and she feels far more confident than she has in a long time… But what if the audience doesn’t feel the same?_

_What if they yell at her? What if they tell her to get off of the stage? What if they tell her she doesn’t belong, or call her the same names the boys in her class did a few years ago? What if they throw things? Or what if they just laugh?_

_She twirls on stage in line with all of the other flowers, feeling her knees shake with nerves and adrenaline, and…_

_None of those things happen. It’s just her, her fellow dancers, and the sparkling stage lights, highlighting her every move as she glides across the stage._

_That’s when she knows this is what she’s meant to do._

 

“Livi!” Inigo cries as he bounds into the dance studio, rocketing himself straight into Olivia’s arms. She reciprocates the hug immediately, lifting the five-year-old up and into the air. He squeals and grabs tight to her shoulders, giggling the whole time. She’ll never understand why he makes such a fuss; being so short, it’s not like she can lift him up that high anyways.

“Good morning, Inigo,” she greets, followed swiftly by, “You look ready.” It’s true. Inigo looks delighted to be here in his brand new baby blue dancewear. She’s sure he must have had his mother pick it out especially; it’s his favorite color.

Inigo flushes, staring at the ground—or rather, he looks straight down without turning his head away from her, staring at where their chests meet. She knows he’s only five and doesn’t know any better, but she finds herself feeling grateful that she’s started to grow in some areas. She really doesn’t need any comments about how, _“Livi’s chest isn’t big like the other girls.”_ Instead, Inigo idly swings his legs and mumbles, “‘M ‘cited.”

“You’re excited?” Olivia repeats, happy to hear it. He’s always been a bit hesitant, dancing in front of others. Maybe that’s why she sort of took him under her wing: because she could relate.

Inigo nods, still avoiding her eyes, and Olivia can’t help but smile at his bashfulness. Yep, just like her when she was a kid. And while she might not have had the easiest time growing up, she’s here to make sure he does just fine.

Actually, thinking on it, that’s what _everyone_ here is for: the instructors, his fellow newcomers, the more advanced dancers… They’re all here to help. She really wishes she had stumbled upon this kind of paradise at his age. But she doesn’t dwell on that thought; instead, she decides to be glad he did.

One of the instructors walks in after that, and Olivia sets Inigo down so he can switch into his ballet flats. She keeps a watchful eye on him all class, like she always does.

 

 _The little bottle of pills fits perfectly in her right hand, almost as if it were made for her to hold. She knows it wasn’t made specifically for her to hold, just as she knows the pills weren’t made specifically for her to take, but they_ were _put in this bottle especially for her. They’re hers now; the label on the side proves that. “For: Olivia Feena. Take one tablet daily. Estrace, 30 MG total.”_

_She holds the bottle close to her chest as she leaves the clinic, feeling lighter than ever before._

 

That Friday, Robin slams a clipboard down on a flimsy fold-out table hard enough to make Olivia jump. It’s the day of Ylisse High’s annual club rush, and they’re… certainly ready. She had spent the last few lunch periods helping them make a large rainbow banner with the club name and logo on it. It’s certainly eye-catching, but with so many clubs out and about, how much attention can theirs really get?

According to Robin, possibly a lot. The clipboard has ten pages of sign-up sheet paper attached, “just in case. I never got a good read on how many people were interested,” they explain, taking a seat next to Olivia behind their makeshift booth. “So I just printed out a bunch of pages. Best to be prepared, right?” They rifle through their bag for a second and produce a large stack of pamphlets. “Can you help me with these? I’m thinking they can go right over there.” They point to the right side of the table as they hand half of the stack over.

“What are these?” Olivia asks as she shifts through the papers, organizing them into piles with their own kind. The titles talk about stopping gay bashing, questioning your sexuality, gender identity…

“Informational brochures,” Robin answers, sorting through their own stack and adding booklets to Olivia’s piles when necessary. “I got some of them from the nurse’s office. Ordered the rest of them online.”

Olivia idly flips through the next one she picks up—this one’s about how to be a good ally—before she sets it down in the right pile. “I brought something too, actually.”

“Really?” Robin smiles, blindingly bright. “I was hoping you would. I didn’t want the left side of the table to be empty, but I couldn’t think of anything else.”

She smiles back, feeling her heart pound as she leans down and unzips her backpack She retrieves out of it a family-sized bag of skittles and a large plastic bowl, which she sets on the table with a bashful look. “T-taste the rainbow…?” she offers.

To her surprise, Robin actually laughs. “Oh my gods, that’s _way_ too cute,” they gasp, wiping tears away from their (dark, so dark she can’t make out the pupil from the iris) eyes. “Why didn’t _I_ think of that?”

Olivia shrugs, tearing the bag open and carefully emptying into the bowl. A spectrum of colorful candy falls out, filling the clear bowl with a rainbow of flavor. “Worst comes to worst, we’ll still attract Gaius,” she jokes quietly, and it’s worth it just to hear Robin laugh again.


	4. [ this might surprise you. ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still adding chapters................... very, very slowly
> 
> like, annually
> 
> anyways, here's the lissabelle i'm sure you all expected

Lissa’s pretty sure her true, unfiltered high school experience began the day she tried to ask out Lon’qu Murong.

She wasn’t even being that serious; not really, at least. She just sort of figured she should get out there, try to talk to some boys, just see how it goes. After all, she’s gotta start dating eventually, right? That’s what her dad used to say, at least. And she’s not all that inclined to believe her dad, but she’s still inclined to do what he says, unfortunately.

Anyways. She didn’t  _ think  _ it was a big deal. All she did was say she thinks he’s pretty cool, and hey maybe we should go see a movie some time, like maybe a romantic comedy or something because I’m trying to ask you out on a date, get it?

Okay. So maybe she came on a  _ little _ strong. But it wasn’t anything worth freaking out over. Or, you know… passing out in the middle of the hallway over.

But everyone’s different! She shouldn’t judge. That was probably about some issues Lon’qu’s got and definitely,  _ definitely  _ not about her specifically.

Doesn’t stop her from stressing out about it once she sits down with Maribelle for lunch, though. “He didn’t even say anything!” she shouts, after at least ten seconds of straight groaning. “Just,  _ bam.  _ Right onto the floor. Without a word.”

“Well, he probably just doesn’t understand how to handle a lady of your sort,” Maribelle says, her voice sympathetic. She’s politely making her way through her homemade lunch, careful not to let any food stain her dress—she’s pretty sure Maribelle said this kind is called a JSK? She never asked what it stood for.

Lissa turns her head to look at her—she’s splayed herself over the lunch table in a way that’s maybe a tad bit dramatic, in clear contrast to Maribelle’s perfect posture—and narrows her eyes a little. “What kind of sort?”

“The good sort, I assure you.”

Lissa’s not sure if she should believe her, but Maribelle usually doesn’t hold back when she wants to scold her, right? So she will. She tries to return to her lunch, but it doesn’t take long until she closes her eyes and sees Lon’qu’s face again, pale and terrified. She flops onto the table again with a groan.

Maribelle sighs, but the look in her eyes is as soft as ever. “Really, dear, there was hardly anything wrong with your approach. At least, not from what you’ve described to me.” Lissa presses her lips together. Maribelle knows about romance stuff like this, right? She knows more than Lissa, at least, even if she’s never had a boyfriend before. So she can trust her. “If he didn’t respond positively, then he simply wasn’t the one. That’s all there is to it.”

Lissa stares at her as she pops a strawberry slice into her mouth, almost elegantly, her manicured fingers hardly even stained red, and then she frowns. “I don’t know. It’s just… they always make it look so easy on TV. I thought I could just find a guy I kinda liked and go for it, and it would all work out, you know?”

“Did you kind of like him, or was he just the most convenient option?” Maribelle asks, making Lissa still. “They say love is fickle, but that’s a myth.  _ Liking  _ is fickle. Love comes on strong and stays for quite a while.”

She lays a comforting hand on her shoulder, and all at once Lissa feels an odd chill run through her. There wasn’t a breeze just now, was there? She hardly has time to think about it before Maribelle stares at her—no, right  _ through _ her—and says, “Learn to distinguish between the two, darling.”

She thinks about that moment for a long time afterwards, wondering if there’s an easy way to know. Some way she just doesn’t know about.

 

She never figures it out. Well, she does, but not by lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling until long past midnight. No, she’s always learned better through experience, and this is no exception.

Maribelle always keeps a careful eye on her, so it isn’t a surprise when she notices Lissa hissing in pain throughout the school day. “Dear, is something wrong?” she asks the second they’ve left school and stepped into her home. It’s Friday, and Maribelle had insisted she come over and try over a new blend of tea she was obsessed with. Something about chamomile with spiced greens…? Anyways.

“I’m doing… alright,” Lissa lies—not her strong suit. It’s never been. The way she avoids Maribelle’s eyes and leans against the door a little must be very telling, she’s sure. “Why do you ask?” Her body presses against the door at the wrong angle, and she lets out a sharp squeak, standing upright again to take the pressure off of her arm.

“Because of that,” Maribelle sighs. She holds out a gentle, but expectant, hand. “Let me see you, darling.” Lissa fiddles with the sleeve of her jacket for a moment, but gives in, holding out her arm for Maribelle to inspect.

She expects a bit of pain, but Maribelle is incredibly gentle as she lifts the sleeve again to reveal the bruised skin underneath. She also expects Maribelle to at least let out a gasp of shock, but… she doesn’t. When Lissa’s looks back up, she finds her looking disappointed at worst. “I suspected as much,” she admits. “You’re an awful liar, darling.”

“It’s really not that bad,” Lissa sighs, and she has to stop herself from continuing with,  _ “Not as bad as I used to get when Dad was around.”  _ Instead, she swallows and says, “I was just… embarrassed.” It isn’t a lie. Admitting how she got this, is… well. “I was making pasta,” she admits, head ducked down. “And… yeah.”

“Making pasta, indeed…,” Maribelle murmurs, staring down at the harsh burn licking across her forearm. “You never were the most skilled cook.”

Lissa wants to object, but instead what comes out is a choked, “I know.” For some reason, those words hit harder coming from Maribelle than they would anyone else.

Maribelle’s eyes travel to her face, much softer than before, and then she’s resting a hand between her shoulder blades and quickly guiding her through the house. “Here, darling.” They’re in front of the couch before she knows it. “Sit, please.” She does, albeit a little shakily, and Maribelle rushes out of the room, her tea party heels  _ click-click-clacking  _ against the hardwood floor.

When she walks back in, she’s holding a bright red first aid kid kit under one arm, with a glass of water in her other hand. “Here.” She hands the water to Lissa and smiles. “I’ve set up the tea kettle, but you should still be staying hydrated.” Lissa nods and takes a sip, busying herself with the glass while Maribelle opens the kit and fishes out an ice pack and some ointment. “Is this the only one?”

“Um,” she watches Maribelle’s hands graze against different medical supplies, thoughtful in every action. Why is she blanking now? This should really be a simple question. “Yeah, it’s just that one. I didn’t light the kitchen on fire.” This time. “Oh, but I did knock my,” she quickly checks her lefts and rights, “left hip into the counter when I pulled away from the burner, and that’s really been bothering me, too. I’ve got this huge bruise...”

“Then we’ll begin there,” she sighs, reaching across Lissa’s body to lift up the hem of her shirt. Lissa immediately flushes. She’s not normally so close to Maribelle; not so close to her perfectly curled hair or her deep brown eyes with extra long lashes or her floral perfume, with just a hint of strawberries…

She hisses when the cold ice pack hits her skin. She’d almost forgotten about her injuries. Disappointment hits her in waves, and she can’t place her finger on the reason why. “My apologies, dearest,” Maribelle says, her voice barely above a whisper. She doesn’t need to speak any louder with how close they are.

“It’s fine,” Lissa whispers back, and then she acts before she can think, leaning in. Maribelle’s lips meet hers, and it’s unexpected (even though  _ she  _ was the one to go for it), but not bad. In fact, it’s nice. And it’s not long before she feels Maribelle reciprocate, kissing a little harder and gently cupping her face.

After a moment, they pull back, almost simultaneously. Lissa smiles, and soon that smile turns into a laugh. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

And Maribelle, true to her nature, shakes her head and smiles. “Let’s have you patched up, then.”

 

That first kiss, that moment of joy and affection and realization and  _ relief,  _ was so easy that Lissa figures the rest of the relationship will follow suit in much the same way.

She couldn’t be any more wrong.

As much as Lissa wants to tell people, as much as she wants to tell the entire world how much she loves her  _ girlfriend,  _ she can’t. Maribelle actually brings it up before she does. Her father was never too keen on “those people,” and as much as Lissa wants to believe Chrom and Emmeryn wouldn’t agree... it’s just not worth the risk. No matter how stifling it feels.

But it’s not worth giving up on Maribelle. Nothing could convince her to back down now. So they meet in secret, mostly at Maribelle’s house, but sometimes in hidden corners around school, or on dates in neighboring towns. They’re careful, of course, but Lissa refuses to let anything stop them from going out on dates, even if they sometimes have to pretend those dates are just friendly outings.

“Just gals being pals,” she jokes, and Maribelle laughs, daintily masking the sound behind a gloved hand. It makes both of them feel a little better.

They go on like this for months, until it’s Lissa’s sophomore year is about to begin and they’re quickly approaching their first anniversary. Lissa’s already started working on her gift: a set of handmade bracelets. The most important one has both of their names on it in pastel letter beads. She has trouble keeping her hands steady as she works on it, and she has to hide it in a spare pillow case shoved into her closet, but she’s sure it’ll be worth it.

 

Sometimes, Lissa’s not sure how Emm does it. That is, take care of two children  _ and _ Lucina and Owain.

...Okay, but all jokes aside, Lucina and Owain are the children. Although she and Chrom definitely have their moments.

Lucina’s their half-sister, on their father’s side. Her mother passed away about a year-and-a-half ago, and they’ve been taking care of her ever since, mostly because no one on her mother’s side wanted anything to do with her. Lissa guesses it’s because she was the product of an affair. Lucina might know this too; she’s remarkably mature for her young age.

Owain is a different story. He’s a cousin on their mother’s side. His parents, in Lissa’s honest opinion, probably shouldn’t have had a kid. They love to travel, more than they love him. So while they’re out and about (which is  _ often _ ), they trust Owain with them. He’s become a household regular, and they’ve heard every story about his parents’ “amazing adventures” far too many times.

He is also, unfortunately, the member of the house with the most non-existent sense of privacy. So when he barges into Lissa’s room while she’s doing some last minute summer homework and starts trying to climb onto her desk, begging for her attention, it’s hardly a surprise. “What is it?” she sighs, putting on a smile (it’s not a real challenge; he may be annoying sometimes, but he’s a cute bugger).

Owain stops himself from using one of her desk drawers as a stepping stool and lowers himself to the ground. “Guess what I did today!”

It isn’t hard to guess, but Lissa pretends like she’s solving the world’s most intricate and darkly shrouded mystery. “Hmmmmmmm…,” she keeps humming for quite a while, “did you go to your first day of school?” Lucina and Owain are both starting kindergarten, and Owain was practically bounding with excitement as he got ready this morning. He spent almost half an hour deciding if he wanted to wear his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt or his Zelda shirt. At least it wasn’t as big of an ordeal as back-to-school shopping was (can it be called “back-to-school” shopping when he’s only just started?).

So of course, Owain nods exuberantly and starts going into a long story about all the different people he met in class, and what activities they did, and how nice his teacher, Priam, is. Lissa pulls him into her lap as he goes on, listening to him babble with genuine interest.

...Well, okay, maybe she spaces out a little every now and again, but she catches the important points, like when Owain talks about how pretty his new friend Inigo is. “He’s the dashing prince in all the books Emm reads to me!”

Lissa laughs a little. Owain can be so dramatic with his descriptions. “Is he?”

“Yeah! We’re gonna get married someday, I decided!”

Lissa freezes. Huh. She wants to be worried, and maybe she should tell him to be careful with who he says that too, but for now she’s feeling an odd sort of kinship with Owain that she hasn’t experienced before. “Do you know what getting married means, Owain?” she asks, just to be sure.

“Yeah, obviously!” He seems overly proud of himself, like this was some kind of test he just aced. “It’s where you decide to hug and kiss and stay together until the end of forever!”

Lissa can’t help but laugh a little, despite her shock. Well, he’s not wrong. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure. She lowers him off of her lap and onto the ground. “I gotta get back to my homework, but feel free to tell me about your friend Inigo whenever you want! It’ll be…,” she thinks of a good way to word this, “our special secret mission to get you two married. So don’t tell anyone else, okay?” For now, at least.

Owain absolutely beams, just like she knew she would. “Got it!” He dashes out of the room with newfound enthusiasm, and Lissa collapses back into her chair.

She still doesn’t feel worried, she finds. And maybe, she thinks with a smile… maybe she doesn’t need to.

 

She’s in the middle of lunch with Maribelle as usual when a banana yellow flyer glides over her shoulder and onto the table. Next to her, Maribelle scoffs, “Have people no basic decency these days?” but Lissa picks it up and reads it over.

_ “Ylisse High Gay-Straight Alliance,”  _ it reads in big block letters.  _ “LGBTQ+ students and straight allies join forces on campus to fight discrimination and hate! Meetings are after school on Tuesdays and Fridays in Mr. Viktorov’s classroom. Come and support your fellow students! First meeting is on November 4th. There will be free cupcakes, so please come!! :)” _

“Huh,” she says. That sounds… kind of perfect, actually. She’s surprised something like this didn’t exist before. 

She’s sliding the flyer across the table to Maribelle as a voice sounds behind her. “Interested, Princess?” Lissa yelps and spins around in her seat to face Gaius, who’s grinning behind her. “I gave one to your brother, so I figured, fair’s fair.”

“You gave one to Chrom…?” she echoes, feeling sort of weightless. Next to her, she sees Maribelle glaring daggers at Gaius—she doesn’t blame her, he’s a serial flirt—but she ignores it for now. “What did he say?”

Gaius takes a heart-shaped sucker out of his mouth, building the suspense until Lissa can hardly even bear it… and then he shrugs. “That’s for you to find out.” He starts to turn around. “See you there?”

“Uh…” She turns towards Maribelle, eyes wide and hopeful. Maribelle still looks a bit irritated, but she sighs and nods. “Yeah, totally! We’ll both be there!”

Gaius nods and waves at her over his shoulder. “Cool. Now Bubbles can’t tell me I was slacking off.”

Maribelle narrows her eyes at his retreating form. “Bubbles…?” She sighs. “Well, no matter. So long as he isn’t the one in charge.”

Lissa, on the other hand, is beaming. “This is great, Maribelle! If Chrom’s there, then I know I can finally tell him,” she can’t say it out loud, not at school, “well. You know!”

“I suppose so.” Maribelle sets the flyer aside with a small smile. “And you would be ready to do that?”

She nods, her pigtails bouncing with the motion. “I think so!”

The smile that spreads across Maribelle’s face is gentle, like the first bloom of springtime, or something cheesy like that. “Then I’m outspoken in my support.”

Lissa can’t help but let out a giggle at that. The way Maribelle talks is just too much sometimes. “I knew you would be!”

Her laughter catches in her throat when a gloved hand finds hers underneath the table. She looks up to find her girlfriend giving her a look of complete, unabashed fondness; a look she rarely ever sees in public. “Anything for you, darling.”


End file.
